


A Candle Can't Burn Down a Forest

by Mikato_Dragos



Category: MoonyVR
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29603991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikato_Dragos/pseuds/Mikato_Dragos
Summary: At least partially ripped off Rambo: First Blood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Candle Can't Burn Down a Forest  
> by Magi 'PTO' Democrati, Mikato Dragos and Retujy Democrati

You'll be alright, you mutter to yourself in meager consolation. You'd finished your last exams at university, but you're currently waiting for the numbers that will ostensibly determine your life. You quit Doom in frustration; the tension was making you choke. There're no chapter updates on Mangadex, and you've already read the new xkcd comic. Your grades will be sent through email whenever some fat capitalist in a purple suit decides to.

Ding-dong.

You wonder who it is. They aren't there to kill you; you've already established that the whole... thing was a hallucination. He probably just ran off somewhere. The door shuffles open, letting the sunlight in, and revealing a young woman, perhaps only half a decade your senior, dressed in a smart black suit.

Maybe she's with the FBI, and is going to arrest you for copyright infringement. Libgen was the only reason you managed to pass, to be honest. Her hair flows like red wine, as much as it can cut short like that. Already you can see white streaks. She can't be that old, can she?

'Good afternoon, Miss [l/ln]. May I come in?'

You remember that the police aren't allowed to search your house without a warrant, but you also remember that the FBI would just stalk you for eternity until you gave up.

'Alright.'

She stands, urging you to 'please, sit down.' You do so nervously, not wanting to provoke her. 'Please answer all my questions with complete honesty.' Well, the government has a log of your internet history somewhere, so it's no use lying unless you want to spend more time in jail.

'Were you the owner of a dog called Moon?' Her query surprises you; maybe he's attacked someone, or maybe they suspect you of animal cruelty. 'Yes,' you answer, 'but he ran away three months ago.' She remains nonchalant, even as she asks: 'do you know who he is?' It's a veiled demand - she means to talk about Moon's humanoid form. You get the feeling a lie about him maybe being the dog of some billionare's heiress would not go down well. You merely concede, 'yes, he told me about his past', expecting her to shoot you or something.

However, she admits, 'that makes my job a lot easier.' Maybe you should ask her something now? She senses your inquisitiveness, and holds up a hand to stop you. 'Moon is somewhere in Sumava. I need you to find him.'

Now that you have something she wants, you can go on the offensive. 'Why can't you do it yourself?' It's a rude pry, but a reasonable one nonetheless. 'Moon can predict me, but I can't - he's changed during those years with you. I have work to do in the meantime.' You get it, you get it, she doesn't want to. How bureaucratic - though you agree, 'fine.'

'You have a week', she declares, before striding to the door. You don't stop her - she's given you the chance to meet Moon again, after all. A hushed splinter breaks the air; when you look out the door, she's disappeared. Instead, there's a calling-card on the floor.

Newhouse Animal Traps (2nd dep.)   
Czech Republic branch  
602 973 198

You've heard of animal traps - apparatus that snap shut when an animal steps on them. You quickly dig out your phone, and dial the number in. It rings - one, two three, four, five repeats, then the line goes dead. You check the number. It's all correct. You press call again, and this time somebody picks up, an irritated, gruff man.

'Hello, Newhouse Traps here. What can I get you?' You hesitate for a moment - would Moon be in his dog or human form? Dog, because it's his usual form. 'Do you have any traps for dogs or wolves?' you ask. 'The four and the four-half', the employee answers. When in doubt, always go for the bigger number. 'I'll have the four-half', you answer, 'ten of them.' Might as well order some spares. 'Address?' he replies, and you tell him. 'Your order will arrive tonight. Thank you for ordering from Newhouse-' 'Wait', you cut in, 'how much is the bill?' 'The gov'll foot it, newbie.' With that insult, he hangs up. Ah. So '2nd dep.' meant the MIB department.

You decide to read up on how the hell you catch a dog. Libgen has the answer; it always does, and you put 'trap' into the search bar. It returns several books, most of them irrelevant, and you directly download a few interesting-looking ones. Torrents are too slow and inconvenient.

'The Trapper's Bible' by Eustace Livingston. It's the first book you open, and you skip to the chapter on wolves. Apparently you need bait; you'll have to buy some meat tomorrow. You take notes. It's almost like studying again, you almost think, except with someone else's life on the line instead of yours... but you're pretty sure Moon's bestial instincts are good enough for survival, and you did feed him when your mother died.

The doorbell rings - a large cardboard box as been left on the doorstep. You lug it inside with some trouble - the label on the side includes a '40kg' - before opening it; iron contraptions lie in a wooden frame like the armaments of a fifteenth-century witch-hunter.

After you chow down some noodles, you go to sleep. It's not only in preparation for tomorrow, but also to compensate for all the sleep you lost during studying.

The bed is cold.


	2. Chapter 2

It's the alarm that wakes you from a dreamless sleep at eight. You forgot to turn it off; you don't have university for the next few weeks. The dog used to wake you up. You hate alarms.

You pull on some long pants and a waterproof jacket, before heaving the traps into your secondhand Toyota Land Cruiser. Despite its high status in the antiques world, anything that isn't more than four generations old is sometimes relegated a ~200k koruna price tag, and it still runs like a marathon champion. The maintenance isn't hard, too.

The supermarket is largely empty, and you don't have to line up as you buy some bacon, several pork steaks, and a flavourless sandwich. The cashier - May Barlow, someone you think you're on friendly terms with - packages the products quickly, before wishing you a good day.

As you drive to the forest, you realise she's the one in the dream. Are you really so weak that you even latch on to a stranger? You need to find Moon.

There's a farm nearby, and you stop the car. The cows are ambling around, and there's no farmer in sight. You set up seven traps on the outskirts of the forest, in the bigger openings. Hopefully, that will be enough to catch him; you cut off branches for clogs and lay the meat on the covered traps.

The forest is thick with slowly dying trees. The first thing is to scout out the area. Moon won't be near the fringes - the area is several kilometers both sides, and you need to go deeper. The leaves crunch under your feet as you hike over the crooked roots.

The remaining three traps weigh down your backpack, so you put them near particularly worn- looking paths, then walk back. It's already late afternoon.

When you get back to the car, you eat the sandwich. It's dry and salty, but pairs well with the lukewarm water. Your hunger seems to erode it more than you, but the meal is still yummy.

It's evening, so you turn on your flashlight and inspect the traps near the farm. The bait's gone, but the traps have not been triggered. There seems to be something carved into the wooden clogs.

ııIı_

Two short lines, a long one, another short one, then a horizontal one. A middle finger. From eighth grade, a doodle to inconspiciously rebel against the teachers. Dogs have good memory. To think he'd use it against you.

He's annoying. 

Fuck it.

You run for twenty minutes, which gets you about three kilometers in, and you breath in the thick air as you sit down on a rock, resting in the clearing.

You get your phone out; fortunately, it still has battery. A drawn picture of Rin Kagamine, downloaded to your photo album, sits in the bezel. It's an NSFW piece, of her masturbating to a peek through her brother's window. Your hands snake down to your groin as you begin to touch yourself, rubbing your skin, before unzipping your pants and playing directly over your panties: they're stained dark with your fluid. You delicately explore yourself, touching deeper, deeper, until you can't take it anymore, and slide the cloth to the side. Your climax is building, the crescendo rolling, your voice seeping past the trees, as the orgasm strikes your nerves, tearing through your blood, the licentious scent of female heat like the creep of leech-like vines.

It draws him out.

In his human form.

He stares at you, the hint of disapproval being taken over by unabated lust as he lunges at you -

'Gotcha.'

You've not been off guard, of course, and ropes grab his limbs tightly, lifting him into the air. He struggles madly, but the many thick tree branches hold.

'Moon', you say, but he growls at you, his visage twisted into a feral repulsion, his sharp fangs still bloody from eating your bait. You need to stop his instinct.

'Moon', you repeat, but it doesn't work. You want to tell him to think - but you want to tell that to yourself.

'Noom', you finally command, and he looks at you meekly. A name, made from reversing the letters, that you christened him with. Something between you two, a secret code from an intelligence-agent cosplay. A sign that he was, even then, more than an dumb pet.

'[y/n]?' he mumbles, 'what are you-'

'Doing a good deed', a fresh tone chirps in. The lady who told you to do it exits from the darkness, cutting the now-sentient Moon down. 'Aki?' Moon asks, the aspect of incredulity staining his question - he must have believed her dead. 'Got my body into chronostasis. Medics took it from there', she explains with a smile. 'Let's go home, Mooncake.'

It would be nice to end it there, but 'what about me?' you ask. Aki hands a pair of sunglasses to Moon - who snatches a metal stick away from her. She seems annoyed at his intrusion, but cedes her position, telling you to 'go home.' But you can't. Not with Moon standing there. With all the time you've spent with him, you can't just leave.

'Let me help you', you demand of Aki, who shakes her head. 'Learn to value your life more', she replies - just like every other person who's tried to make you "get over" your loss, except she's trying to make you not lose anything. Yet, like everybody else - she's doing it for nothing. You can't learn to value when there's nothing to value - but you value Moon, and take a good look at his tattered and bruised body - an accurate reflection of his mind. But he finds it in himself to stop his friend, to say 'she's just like us, a decade back', to persuade her that it isn't her place to choose what's best for you -

'I've already paid the goddamn price', you glare, 'so I think I can handle success.'

Aki is sad. Like a little animal who's had its tribe killed by poachers. She doesn't think joining is worth it, not for you, not for her, not for Moon.

He says, 'these deaths need to be for something.' Aki extends a hand to you.

As you lie in the warmth of Moon's body, Aki's four-by-four rumbling over the soil, you know that you don't want this happiness to go - and that's what makes you strong.

Your phone is out of battery, so you plug it in to one of the car's many outlets, and it blinks on. Moon glances to the page you left open.

'A she Wolf or dog staked out in the mating season is an infallible lure', it reads, and you smirk at his blush knowingly.


End file.
